All His Fault
by nutella and a pencil
Summary: A boy wanders through the dusty ruins of al-Hamrah Makan who just so happens to be related to a certain host of the sun god. This just randomly popped into my head, so forgive me if it makes no sense. Please read and review! Rated T just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kane Chronicles, Zia, or anything else you might recognize. The only thing I might own in this piece is the OC...**

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He saw the remains of the broken, red statue of Apo- the red snake. It was the cause of all this trouble. He kicked it into the sand. All his fault. He saw the remains of the village, the clay bricks crushed into sand, the broken pictures torn and dusty. All his fault. He had known it would bring nothing but trouble. He had known his father should never have brought to al-Hamrah Makan. All his fault. He knew there was a reason why he never managed to find any complete statues. Something to do with the slippery magicians and the failing House of Life. All his fault.

It was just his luck he was steeped in magic the moment he was born. Was it his fault he was born on the birthday of the most notorious god? Was it his fault he came into the world on the same day as Set? He scrounged through the remains of the village, looking for anything to help him survive. All his fault. Why had he run away? He could have done something! Made sure she was safe! All his fault. Instead he had run. Run like the coward he was. He had just proved them right. He was good for nothing. He had deserved the pointing and the accusing stares and the mutterings behind his back. All his fault. He found a basket with scattered grains in it. He would keep it. He would survive. Maybe he was stealing. But no one would know. There were no bodies anyway. Vaporized. Turned to dust. Scattered like sand in the wind. All his fault? He wandered through the ruins of the village he called home, not bothering when the shards of simple clay pottery cut his feet. He deserved it. All his fault.

He had sworn to protect her! To prove that he wasn't as bad as everyone thought he was. She was innocent. She probably didn't know what was happening, when the red wind started to blow and her still short black hair blew around her face. Staring in confusion through curious golden eyes as everything she knew disappeared. All his fault. Then he saw it. In the embrace of the scattered grains, there was a single unbroken picture. She was smiling, trying to cover the eyes of her father mischievously. She was only eight in the picture. Just a few days ago she had been happy. She had been so excited to see the disposable camera his father had brought her. It was her birthday. She deserved a gift. She was not cursed like him. She had laughed and took pictures of everything she saw. He could not be included in the pictures, but what did it matter? She was happy. The one person who thought he was human, who did not think he was just an ill omen, was happy! Even if she was only eight years old and was his little sister. He was not worthy of that happiness. He had betrayed her. He had run away from the destruction and crossed the river into the dead land and didn't look back. He didn't want to see everything and every one he loved disappear like a forgotten dream. When he did turn back, there was nothing left of the village. As if it was never even there. The people had probably gone to their death cursing him. All his fault.

He dropped the picture. It fell gracefully to the sand. Now, everyone who came there would know what had been, what he had destroyed. But no one would come. Everyone who knew about his home was dead. The hope and happiness of people he cared about snuffed out like a candle because of one mistake. All his fault. He continued walking through the ash and sand. He would not eat the grain. Too many memories…

He found a spear. With some difficulty he stabbed a couple fish. There would be fish for dinner tonight. He smiled, but the life was gone. And why shouldn't he? He had nothing left. Why shouldn't he smile over the end of a life if it meant he would survive? He caught himself. This was the rambling of a madman. Maybe he was mad. The smile slipped off his face. All his fault.

He finished eating the fish and dropped the remains in the water. The tiger-fish would have something to eat tonight. All his fault. He watched the sun set in the water. The sky was painted pink and orange. Orange was her favorite color. Secretly, he liked it as well. He stared at his reflection. The tanned skin from working in the sand. The messy light brown hair, tousled from the wind. His face, streaked with blood and tears and dirt. The crazed look in his golden eyes. A ripple distorted the image. She had always been fascinated by the ripples. All his fault.

Suddenly he couldn't control his emotions any longer. They poured out of him like a tidal wave. He made a choking sound as the tears flooded out of his eyes. Crying. Howling his pain to the world. He crumpled on the bank of the river and cried his eyes out. Thousands of memories churned in his mind as the world swirled around him, as the world turned dark. She had always been afraid of the dark. His tears created ripples in the water, like a summer rain. She had enjoyed dancing in the rain, among the fresh green shoots. The farmers would yell at her but she wouldn't care. He felt someone watching him from the dead land. He froze. No one was allowed to see him weak. It was his weakness that caused the destruction of his village. All his fault.

He picked up the remains of the statue of Apophis. He no longer had any fear of the name. He dropped it into the water creating massive ripples that disturbed his reflection. It made sense to his tortured mind. The statue had disturbed everything. All his previous sadness had drained away, leaving nothing but anger. Pure unbridled fury at whoever caused this. Even if it had been his fault. He picked his way through the dead village and red sand leaving a trail of blood and tears. A half-blind old man could've followed him. He felt the eyes of countless predators on his back. After all, what desert hunter would turn down a young bloody meal. He no longer cared. Let them come, he thought to himself, with no spark, no life left in his eyes. They were as cold as yellow flint. The spear in his hand snapped in half. Let them come.

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Four years later a lonely twelve year old girl with chin length black hair and piercing amber eyes, found a picture of a girl she used to know.

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**A/N: Could you guys tell who 'she' was? I liked the way this turned out. Ugh, I don't even know why I wrote this. It made sense in my head! I know its kind of angsty but the genre is angst for a reason! Um...do you guys have any ideas for where to go with this, I have a rough outline, but it isn't that great. So...I hope I didn't turn him into one of those irritating Mary sue type thingie. If I did, please review and tell me, so I can cry and weep in a corner over my horrid writing skills. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Disclaimer: The characters in Kane Chronicles belong to Rick Riordan. Horrible man. Threw Percabeth into Tartarus. I'll never forgive him!**

**Thanks to bandcrazy01 who is totally awesome and is my first reviewer. Now, I am not the squealing type, but I am going to right now. SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE! **

**Yeah, I wanted to split the story into paras, but I couldn't figure out how to edit published stuff. I also found a few typo thingamajigs. But honestly thank you. For the advice and everything. ~ NUTELLA OUT!**

A white ibis circled the river. Graceful, gentle, going wherever the wind took it to. It sharply turned back, spotting the camp marked with the rising of a red sun. It was an ill omen. The camp's lone inhabitant would move if he knew what was good for them. Maybe he did know, or maybe he just didn't care. The ibis traveled farther downriver. There were far more fish there.

The boy watched the ibis fly away. Pity. He needed something to eat today. Then again, the flesh of the ibis is tough and chewy. Still. He needed to eat something. The boy picked up the broken spear. Maybe he could eat fish again. The taste was getting kind of old. Mind you, he loved fish. But even the best food starts to taste the same over a month's time. He turned to watch the rising sun. The sky was painted with blood red hues. The gods fighting their battles in the sky. The color of Set. It marked the start of the demon days. He turned his arm over, to the scar marked with the symbol of _isfet_. Chaos. He was a cursed child.

(Flashback)

_There was a woman, the old soothsayer. She said she was blood of the pharaohs, member of the House of Life. She called herself the last descendent of Imhotep, the first magician to walk the Earth. We all called her crazy. But we kept her in the village. Better not to let a magician out of your sight. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, after all._

_ He was attracted to her. She was an outcast, like him. Maybe they would be friends! Maybe she would help him, and accept him and teach him how to write! Maybe she would treat him like a mother… but who was he kidding? Why would anyone help him? But help him she did. _

_She found the boy, no more than eight years old hiding behind a pile of trash. She could hear the gossiping of the villagers. She invited him inside. His eyes opened wide in amazement, and again settling back into an indifferent gaze. But still he walked inside her hut on the edge of the village. She gave him food to eat. She taught about the Egyptian folklore, about Horus, the Avenger, the tales of Isis and Orisis, and Set, tricky Set, who always got what he wanted. About wise Thoth, and gentle Nepthys. About Anubis and Sobek and mighty Ra. He ate the tales up. _

_The boy sneaked into the hut every day for a week. She had just taught him how to write his name in the Divine words and not in that round English script, when she felt faint. To the boy, her eyes rolled back, and were shaded in solid blue, the color of lapis lazuli, and the other in gold, like the sun. She suddenly looked old and decrepit. Her voice became raspy and deep, like a man. He watched, fascinated. _

_She spoke, "Child of the desert, son of man, Chaos's child. Come closer. You have nothing to be afraid of" The voice, while choked and dry was laced with magic. The boy felt himself draw closer. The soothsayer-who-was-not the-soothsayer smiled, "Yes my dear boy, everyone will have to know that you are no good, no good, come here." He – she – it drew a slim silver knife from her pouch. "Cursed child" Its voice grew louder and became a chorus of chants, growing in intensity. "Cursed child. Cursed child. Cursed child! CURSED!" It grabbed his arm with surprising strength and carved the symbol _isfet_, slowly, painstakingly slowly, into his arm. _

_The pain was agony, pure agony. The blood dripped freely onto the thickly woven carpet. Suddenly, the unnatural light was gone from her eyes – eyes that were hers once more. She gasped once and died. The boy stared at her, at what she'd become. Tears slipped onto her dead body. They mingled with his blood. He stayed at her house all night. He cried himself to sleep._

_In the morning, the boy stole a shovel from the man-who-cleaned-up-after-the-sheep. He dug a hole in the ground. He painted the figures of Osiris and Anubis leading her into Aaru. He gently dropped her into the hole he'd made. He covered her in the flowers and herbs from her garden. Maybe he couldn't give her a coffin, maybe he couldn't give her a pyramid of gold. But he would try and that would have to be enough. Surely Osiris would see fit to send her into paradise. He saw the golden rim of the sun rise over the dunes. He ran back to his hut at the edge of the river. He pretended to be asleep. They probably wouldn't have noticed anyway._

The boy closed his golden eyes. He saw the image of the white scar beneath his eyelids. Cursed. He took a deep breath and walked to the bank of the river with his spear. Dinner would not cook itself.

He stabbed a fish. The dark red spilt into the water. He dragged it out and skinned it. Fish again. There wasn't much else to eat in the desert. He made a spit out of two forked twigs and roasted the fish on his spear. He watched the fire crackle and spit, the golden sparks dancing in the wind. Unconsciously, he began to trace his name into the wet riverbed.

Amir.

That was his name. The symbol of what he had become. Feral. Wild. Running from anything or anyone that could cause him harm. Dead to anything but survival. He had almost forgotten her sister's name. He knew it was exotic. Started with a S, or maybe it was a Z… Zia. That was her name. The acrid smell of burnt fish clouded the air. Thick, black smoke choked him, filling the atmosphere, a beacon to anyone or anything that might harm him. He felt the smoke lull him to sleep, like the bees. Zia had loved the bees. Even when she got stung. She had loved the bees. His leaden eyelids closed for the first time in three days. Even the dead needed to sleep.

The boy slept for three days. He slipped in and out of a drunken stupor. On the eve of Set's day of birth, a sight came to him. There was an old man. He had wrinkled, caramel colored skin. He had black hair, so dark it blended into the shadows of the deep folds on his face. But his eyes. His eyes were full of wisdom. Wisdom Amir would never know. Wisdom of the likes that people had killed just for a glimpse of it. Wisdom from a time dead and gone. The man spoke in a deep rasping voice. The soothsayer. He had possessed her. She had taught him about that. The man spoke with a deep rumble. "I am Imhotep" The boy was unable to move. His head told him to run, but his feet told him to stay. The magic in Imhotep's voice kept him rooted to the spot. "I am your ancestor. You are the last of the Blood of the Pharaohs who shares blood with me. The soothsayer was your mother"

The boy blinked in confusion. To say he was shocked, utterly shocked would be an understatement. The soothsayer was his mother? The man in front of him had killed her? The man was related to her? His thoughts swirled into confusion, blending into one another, a soup of fragmented thoughts, unanswered questions, and unwanted memories. Suddenly, the boy was alone in a dark room. "You are the last descendant of Imhotep" The voice seemed to come straight from the walls, the shadows, the being inside the room. "Your time has come." An image of a temple, bright as the sun, with a vaguely feline deity carved into it burned into his mind, so vivid it was painful.

Amir woke up with a start, the image of the temple, seared into his brain, such that whenever he closed his eyes, the deity stared at him on the back of his eyelids. He walked away from the camp, away from the river, away from the village, away from the blood-red sun, following the path of the ibis three days before.

He would find the temple, and maybe then its image would plague him no more. He was the last descendant of Imhotep. His time had come.

**A/N So what do you think? Like it? Hate it? Despise it? Wish I would die and chuck myself into Tartarus? Review an tell me. *falls down on knees with tears flowin from eyes* Please, please review….WAAAAAH! Also, I want to change the genre to somfink else, but I don't know what, so review and tell me. So I'm just going to be ranting after this so you might want to skip it.**

**Reviews are like chocolate. Like whenever people are all like "Reviews make me happy!" or "I might have stopped writing the story because I didn't get that many reviews" I was all like "Pfft yea whatevs! Deal with it!" I was seriously thinking of discontinuing the story. And I know that we're writing for ourselves and all, but still. We're wasting our time and losing whatever social life we had, so you can read our story and deal with end of book series hangover. And no one can even say "Your story sucks" or "good job" or something. ARGHH! And even though it seriously pisses me off when people write: Review fifteen times and I'll post another chapter, that's actually a super effective way to get reviews. I can't think of a good conclusion to my rant.**

**Endrant.**

**Come to the dark side and review. We have cookies. Oatmeal raisin cookies with too much sugar. :) :( :o :| zee four legendary smilies**

**~ NUTELLA**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry I haven't uploaded in a while...I'm just lazy. Anyways, thanks to bandcrazy01 again for reviewing. I feel so loved. Plus the sugary oatmeal raisin cookies have mold in them. Plus I'm awesome. So there. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Kane Chronicles.. blah blahblah...yeah y'all get it.**

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The sand blew around his face, stinging his skin. It was hot and the dirt settled in his teeth. He had strayed from the river and was walking blindly, wherever his mind told him to go. If you could still call it his mind. His brain was overrun by pain. The temple, which previously had just been an image, now burned every time he wavered from the path towards it. It was like a white-hot knife plunged into his mind, impossible to ignore. They say the memories of gods leave you insane. He could only say it was true.

The part of his mind that was still his own, was still reeling in disbelief about what Imhotep had revealed to him. To him, it was easier just to stumble in a stupor and not think about his mother or his sister. He walked into the sand dunes, not bothering where he was going. Not bothering whether he strayed from the river or not. Not bothering if it had been days since he had last eaten. Not bothering when the cuts on his feet reopened, or the fact that the expressions on his face changed so rapidly. He was beyond bothering. He was beyond thinking about his messed-up, screwed-up life. So he stopped. He stopped thinking. He stopped eating. He stopped _stopping_. He no longer cared if he was easier to read than a book. Who would want to know what he thought anyway? Who even knew he existed? If anyone knew, would they even care?

So he keeps walking. Walking to the one place he doesn't even know exists. He occasionally stops for water. He has to survive, no? He put far too much effort into self-preservation to die. The outline sears like a recent wound on his mind whenever he deviates from the path. But Imhotep wouldn't want him to die. Would he?

As the sands sweep his footsteps away, he continues searching, searching for the place which he cannot forget. If a magician were to break through his mental defenses – defenses? Ha! There were no defenses anymore – he would discover nothing but pain. Nothing but blinding, burning pain. The kind of pain that would make the minds of lesser men snap, and turn them into nothing more than feral beasts. Not to say he wasn't.

Because what man can say that he no longer controls his own mind, and that he is too much of coward to face what is left of him? To face the destruction that travels in his wake, the madness haunting the golden edges of his irises? And maybe he is as common as the next man, even if he has a magician-turned-god's blood in his veins. Because he no longer remembers – or maybe just doesn't care – who he was before he turned into this beast. This beast who fears nothing, because nothing is worse than what he already faces. The beast who no predator dares hunt, who no bird dares to fly over, whose footsteps no one dares follow. And the boy who has faced things grown men have never even heard of, who has never stopped fighting, fighting to hide his emotions, fighting to escape his fate, has no purpose but to escape his pain, because he has forgotten what he is fighting for.

And he continues, walking, searching, hunting, for the temple from his mind. He doesn't even know if it is real anymore. So he crosses the Tabouken Oasis. He crosses the village limits. He escapes the confines of the city. He travels until he is so tanned you wouldn't believe he was the same person. He walks so far, that his feet are so calloused that his blisters have blisters. He walks until the sky is bluer and the heat hotter. He walks until the sun is much too bright, until the water is far too clear, until the reeds fairly glow with life. He walks into the land of the gods, but no one dares bother him. Who would? He passes the tree where Osiris was trapped, he passes the spot where Geb and Nut were separated. He has traveled into the shadows of the past, the past which even the gods have forgotten. And the whispers of the people forgotten, of the events long gone, tug at his mind, murmuring their stories until what is left of his sanity is gone.

He passes the point where he should feel as if he could go no more – if he was still capable of feeling. He passes the point where he should pass out from exhaustion. But the whispers, they sustain him. The whispers, in some twisted, demented way, while relying on him to hear their stories, draining his life energy, his ka; they provide him with the strength of all the people they contain. So he endures.

And then, when the river and the sky have blurred together, and he no longer knows which way is up, or which way is down, he sees it. Carved out of sand and rock. It appears as though shaped by the wind, as if Shu himself lovingly caressed into its form. The colors twist into a hypnotizing, mesmerizing pattern. Red melting into dusky pink and orange. It is chaotic and it welcomes the chaos in his mind. He steps into the arch of the temple, and its energy repels him. He is ungodly. He is unwelcome. But he does not care. So shoves himself past the magic shields, glowing purple and orange as the disappear.

There is a large statue of Sekhmet inside. She is regal and elegant, her mouth twisted into a snarl. There is an image overlapping the lioness of a golden cow with large horns. It is confusing, and when he looks away, he still sees the double image.

The eyes of the statue seem to follow him, as if assessing him for his courage. He finds this funny and laughs, rough and raw. It is the first human noise that has come out of his mouth for months. Courage? As if! All brave people abandon their villages and try to hide form the destruction they caused. All _heroes _hide from the shattered remnants of sanity left in their minds. He gave up the concept of heroes months ago.

But Sekhmet is not the two-faced goddess for nothing. She is as twisted and crazed as he is. Hathor showering gifts upon the people and healing; Sekhmet snarling and growling and crying for blood.

But she watches as he laughed, and decided if she was going to help him, she had to test him to see if he was worthy. And the lioness' eyes glitter with amusement as she breaks into his memories.

_He watches as the baby open her eyes and smiles—_

_-Child of Chaos –_

_He cries to sleep because of the pointing and stares of the villagers –_

_-All your fault –_

_The soothsayer says, 'Horus is the avenger, vowing revenge against his brother Set – _

_-The soothsayer is your mother –_

_The child laughs and takes pictures of everything around her –_

_-How dare you leave! You caused this –_

_She watches the ripples on the surface of the water as she plays in the shallows –_

_-CURSED—_

_Once upon a time, when the land was young there was a man –_

_-COWARD! – _

He screams in pain as his last sanctuary is breached and torn apart by a merciless goddess. His howls rend the air, as he lets all his anger, sadness, and regret out by screaming in agony. The goddess is not gentle, she is not delicate. She does not mean to coddle the boy. If he will scream, then let him scream. If it hurts to feel his thoughts violated – and it will – why should she care? Nonetheless, Sekhmet is pleased. He will do, she thinks to herself. He is miserable, broken, and I am fickle and cruel. Maybe misery does attract company.

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**A/N: So whaddaya think? This chappie didn't turn out so great..well whatevs! at least I posted**

**Please review! I gives you all *racks mind for delicious food*... YOU REVIEW OR I GIVES YOU THAPPARS ACROSS YORE FAYS! (geekslayer73 is awesome... I don't own that either...)**


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